Bob Marley wakes me up again... I'm really starting to hate that song.
I turn off my phone and slid out from under the mosquito net, into my flip-flops and stumble into the bathroom. I share my sink with an army of ants, removing the remains of a large insect the ghecko must have missed from behind the tap.
It's a hot morning, and the thai-oil I rub into my joints starts to make me hotter.
Cicadas and grasshoppers in the surrounding jungle make a high pitched buzzing/chirping sound, the new sunrise uniting them in a harmony loud enough to drown out my rustling as I find a clean pair of thai boxing shorts.
I leave Mrs G snoring under the mossie net and walk to the training area, water in one hand, electrolyte powder and ankle supports in the other. I'm almost awake.
Ot, one of our two trainers meets me at the edge of the training area, I drop my things, place my palms together and we Wai in greeting. I lean against the ring, roll my handwraps and shoot the breeze with Dan (a scottish boxer) and Patrick (a canadian mixed martial artist), then put on my trainers.
I start my run up the hill and into the jungle, past the ring, then the generators. Pon is filling one with petrol and waves at me as I jog past.
I drop down the other side of the steep ridge, past a small family dwelling with it's family of chickens, and who's dog comes firing out like a round furry missile, barking, snarling and worrying my ankles. I stop, hands up, the dog stops. I ruffle his ears, and continue up the second steep hill, onto the track that goes deeper into the jungle.
It's steep enough that when I stumble, I can catch myself by just reaching in front of me. It levels off for maybe 15 meters, then for 100 meters continues up, at maybe 45-50 degrees. I'm sweating freely now, and my breathing had become deep, hungry, lung-burning pants as I take fast mini-steps up the gradient. My legs are now burning as I follow the track round to the left, then right, still steep enough to warrant steps.
The final hurdle is ahead, where the track becomes almost vertical, and my run is now no longer cardio vascular- my legs are now on their own, burning stored energy as my lungs cannot keep up. My empty stomach tightens and the familiar nausea washes over me as I will myself to keep going.
My legs are now burning, deep inside the muscles, and I swing my arms harder. Can't stop.
I get to the summit, where it levels off to a lesser incline, and now I walk, fast as I can, sucking air in hard and fast as my legs wobble and threaten to give up on me.
The cicadas are more numerous here, almost deafening me with a high pitched whirring that is disorientating and curiously unnerving.
A lizard, maybe 3 feet long comes barreling out of the dense jungle, crosses the track in front of me, and shimmies up a tree, making it shake with it's weight.
I can hear what sounds like a monkey to my left, but I cannot see it. The jungle either side of me is a wall of green and brown, its density allowing just a few meters view inside. A huge butterfly flits past.
I turn around for a second’s breather, and through a frame of jungle I look down onto Haad Yuan bay. A cool breeze washes over me through the break in the trees. The sun is bright, and the sky a pale blue dome over a calm aqua sea. Far below, the white sand of the beach is still empty, and the backpacker bungalows are completely hidden in the palm trees behind the beach. On the right side of the bay, the land erupts out of the sea dramatically, a steep, green covered ridge, with a skirt of huge boulders and rocks. There is a scattering of wooden huts built on these rocks, connected by wooden walkways, just high enough to avoid sea when it crashes against the rocks in bad weather.
It's amazing, pristine, a view of tropical paradise with a jungle soundtrack. A brightly coloured parrot fly’s above the coconut palms below.
I turn back, and jog the rest of the way up this ridge. I run fast down the other side, and continue the run up the next steep hill, this one not as sever as the last but longer. This continues, steep uphill, slight downhill, until I've past the spring that feeds the camps water supply and ran one more hill than last time, signaling my time to turn back.
The run back is easier, as I'm descending, but more dangerous- I slip on the dirt track as I struggle to control my steep descent, hopping over tree roots, vines and rocks.
My breathing is nice and steady again by the time I jog into the training area, wash the dust from my legs and pour cold water over the back of my head. Russ (Kickboxing instructor from Birmingham) puts some training music on as I swap my trainers for ankle supports.
The others have been skipping to warm up for the last 30 minutes, and I find myself stretching off alongside Patrick in the ring.
"Wanna spar man?" He offers.
"cool!"
We stretch, constantly dripping sweat onto the canvass and I wrap my hands and wrists ready for the bag work after. Patrick and I then strap on our shin pads and boxing gloves, and after a few minuets shadow boxing, Ot jumps into the ring and faces us off.
"OK...Ready... Fight!"
Patrick and I tap gloves, and we both dance the thai boxing walk- raised fists bouncing in time with the music, heads wobbling lightly with chins tucked in, balancing our weight through the balls of our feet, front (left) legs bouncing slightly.
We circle each other, our whole bodies now in a rhythm to the music. I focus on his chin through the frame of our gloves, our left hands extended to each other slightly, our rights nearer our face, left feet forward, on the balls of our right, toes facing front.
Slap! His jab hits my gloves. I immediately counter with 2 fast jabs of my own, step right and hook at his exposed kidneys, while his hands are covering his face. My glove glances his side as he skips and throws a roundhouse kick to my left side.
I take it, blocking too late but throw a hook to his temple, PAP! It connects, upper cut, blocked, he left jabs, I catch it in my glove, his cross right, I cover (block), I slap his guard down with my left and throw a straight right, PAP! He takes it on his nose and we both step back.
He bounces his head side to side- Ok, good one mate.
He throws a head kick, I block, catch/slip his 2 jabs, cross and PAP! He lands a hook to my jaw, stiff and clean. I bounce my head this time and we share a smile.
I slip my feet, then roundhouse kick to his side. He blocks it and our shins crash together hard, pads easing the blow. I drop into guard and throw a jab, cross, hook combo; he catches the jab and swings back on his hips, slipping round my cross, hook and then PAT!- he lands a hook of his own in my side. We're close, and automatically we pull each other into the clinch. We wrestle, moving around the ring fighting for the dominant position, heads pressed close together to avoid elbows, constantly slapping knees on each others sides.
We don’t elbow in training, but considerate knee strikes are fine.
I'm pulling him down and right, opening his left for clear knee strikes, then changing as he twists away. I land a fair few, careful as I know my knee is landing on his floating rib area. I'm now panting deeply against my gloves as I struggle to keep his head down and resist his attempts to "swim through" my grip. He changes his grip slightly. I get a blocking shin between us. He pulls, I resist, we adjust grip, pull tight again. I try and hit him with another knee, he jerks, then BLAM! I'm horizontal on the canvass and he's skipped back to the corner.
Great throwdown!
I smile and nod as he steps forward to help me up, and we tap gloves again. We're keeping our distance and catching our breath, landing roundhouses and straight kicks to torso and legs, most blocked, a few punches, all blocked.
He throws a roundhouse kick to my side, I catch it, step into it and throw a downward elbow into his thigh, let go and initiate what would be a back-elbow to his head. Obviously I don’t connect, and quickly defend against a flurry of punches instead. I block, parry and slip all except for a loud PAT! to my kidneys. Again.
We share a smile, he roundhouse kicks my side, I catch again, this time kicking out his supporting leg and he hits the ring floor with a crash. He nods thoughtfully. We trade a few more blows, padded shins and gloves crashing together. My eyes are almost unfocused, aimed at his chin/chest but striving to see his body as a whole, trying to catch that shift of bodyweight, distance, opportunity and warning.
He throws a roundhouse to my side again after a flurry of blows. I catch his leg again, this time pulling him into a punch before pushing him off balance and kicking his supporting leg. We both grin. He throws a jab, cross, hook, I catch them in my gloves, then suddenly PAT! He buries another hook into my side.
We grin wider and I shake my head in mock frustration.
Times up, we tap gloves, briefly, loosely embrace with a pat on the back, and get down to discussing our strengths and weaknesses to work on.
Round two is much the same, but this time more of our blows land. I can't catch his roundhouse again. I use my elbows to block those punches to my sides. We call it quits at round three, having had great fun but aware we have pad and bag work yet to come.
I'm now sucking air in deeply, and my hands are shaking as I shadow box by the ring for a few minutes, trying to recover. My shorts are dripping sweat, and I realize I'm out of water, despite only taking tiny sips.
The cicadas have calmed down, and the sun seems fully up and more intense than usual. The fans above the ring do little against the heat and humidity.
"Andy, Come!" Deday shouts to me from the ring.
Both Ot and Deday are kitted out in belly protector, shin pads and have Thai kick-pads strapped to their arms.
"Am I with you?" I ask Deday as I climb over the ropes, praying I'm with Ot, as I'm so tired, and he seems less concerned with work-rate than defending the punches and kicks he randomly throws at you.
"Yaa you with me! Now... stand, guard, guard!!"
I stand in the guard, like I was with Patrick.
"Jab bop!" (I jab the pad)
"Pan Bop! POWER!! MORE POWER!" (I cross-punched the pad, pathetically it seems)
"Kick" I throw a right roundhouse kick, hard and fast as I can, like a whip extending from the hip, right hand dropping behind my arse, left fist in front of my face. My shin makes a loud PUMF! as it hits the pads and sweat splatters off my leg. I quickly drop my leg back, and throw a left-right and then left cross elbow onto Deday's waiting pads.
"Urr-aaagh!!" Deday shouts by way of encouragement, nodding.
"Again!....."
For the 6 minute rounds, Deday would be shouting out strikes in different combinations, getting me whipping the pads with roundhouse kicks (low, mid and high), stamping his belly protector with teeps (front push-kick), punching the pads with jabs, crosses, hooks, uppercuts, along with cross-elbows, uppercut elbows, downward elbows, and knee strikes that were only good enough if they lifted him off his feet, and I pulled him onto them. Then jumping techniques were introduced, throwing flying-elbows and flying-knees to finish or start combinations, seemingly at random.
Every time I completed a combination fast and strong enough for him, I was rewarded with a loud "Urraaagh!! GOOD, POWERRR!!"
With Deday, poor form, failing to block a punch or kick he would throw, or not understanding a "trick/defense" he wants you to do results in a "NOOO! Ahhhhh, no!" accompanied by downcast head-shaking and a very seriously pissed-off expression. It appears to deeply hurt him if you get something wrong, or so he pretends. So you do it again, then again faster, then another combination, then a defense-counter attack combination, another combination, again and again.
Soon I was sure the round was over, having done absolutley every single technique he's taught me, in every combination seemingly possible. I was panting deeply, struggling to keep my gloves high, having not stopped, weakened or paused for a moment. He looks at the clock on the wall.
"Ahhh OK..." he says
I throw my hands down.
"20 kick!" He says, holding the pads high....
I groan and start kicking, fast as I can. Then we swap to the other leg.
"100 punch!" He shouts immediately, and I 1-2 punch the waiting pads, sweat flying off me as I punch, left, right, left, right, left, right.....
Then elbows....then knees.....then...
"OK 1 minute!"... Deday immediately goes to the ropes and starts his charm on some passing girls, who were watching the training with interest.
I run to the other ropes and get ready to vomit, nearly falling through the ropes, so tired I can’t stand.
One minute later, we do another round.....
After that, it's bag work for a short while, shadow boxing to cool down, and then I head off to my hut for a cold shower, dry clothes, and then breakfast with Mrs G and the lads.
We all spend the day recovering (doing nothing), and then start again at 4pm, replacing the run with skipping and the warm down with groundwork- sit ups, press-ups etc.
It's a great life!
Or at least it was until I got injured. Today I can hardly walk due to a hip injury.
Bugger.
Sunday 30 March 2008
Training
Tuesday 25 March 2008
Full Moon Party
The full moon parties that are held on our island draw thousands of western tourists every month, attracted to the drug and alcohol soaked atmosphere of other tourists (travellers) going nuts on a beach for 24 hours.
We didn't go to the last one, as we had recently arrived and preferred to chill out with our new friends Sophi and Dan from Germany in a quiet bar here on our beach paradise.
The next month though we decided to go, as did everyone else at the camp. So we all met up in the common area about 10pm on the full moon night, sipping coffee shakes, redbull to someones dance CD's, before squeezing into a worryingly narrow, wooden long-tail boat for the trip to Haad Rin.
The moon was out and full this time (last "full moon" party was postponed a couple of days due to elections), and indeed looked magical reflected off the gently rippling water as we sailed around the beach head and rocks. The moonlight seemed strong enough to read by, it was so bright. Our coxswain knocked off his solitary running light as we hummed through the flat water, the moonlight illuminating in silver our path through the rocks.
When we reached Haad Rin, the sight on the beach reminded me of the scene from Apocalypse Now- Music boomed from multiple piles of bass speakers, thrown together haphazardly. Lights flashed different colours, fireworks went off flashing and banging over the lights. The beach was a writhing mass of bodies, all dancing, staggering, falling, and boats like ours carried yet more people onto the beach, threading their way past each other, avoiding the fully clothed people dancing, or maybe swimming in the water.
They say up to 30,000 people can attend on any full moon, and being there, I can quite believe it. The bars were little more than trestle tables laid out on the beach in single line, selling small plastic buckets with a bottle of whiskey or rum, a can of cola and a redbull sitting in. For between 300 and 450 Baht (depending on your spirit of choice), the "bar" tenders will fill the buckets with ice and pour in the booze and 2 mixers.
A couple of straws and your good to go!
All the way down the beach, speakers pumped out different types of music- in front of one "bar", Timberlake's bassy tunes were making our kidneys vibrate, but with just a few paces down the line the music changed to Jungle music, with a London MC chatting like a machine gun to a pleasingly multicultural, but very British, crowd.
Our group split for a bit, as the single lads went off looking for company, and us married/quieter types found a bar where we could shoot pool and talk.
Eventually, after many beers and much amusement at the drug addled antics of the gap-year travelers, everyone from the camp met up again on the beach. One of our guys, a kickboxing instructor from Birmingham, had a nice American girl clamped onto his arm so decided to stay. However, the rest of us were too drunk or tired to go on, so we squeezed again into a narrow boat, and chugged slowly off the beach.
The beach was wrecked. Bottles, rubbish, and crap from the sea (brought by the boats) was floating in the shallows, which were also full of people swimming/falling about in the filthy brown water. As we chugged past the drunk and the wasted, I noticed a young couple bumping uglies, I mean really going at it, like rabbits on Viagra, just meters away from the boat. The water was so dirty, they will surely catch a nasty infection! (And probably blame each other for it....)
Mrs G and I got to bed about 5.30am after a nightcap in the camps restaurant area, a little drunk, but nothing near the state the "Full Moon Party" seems to induce in most people.
The following day we returned to Haad Rin, on a bank and shopping trip. The mess was still there; farangs off their faces and struggling to remain upright after 24 hours drug and alcohol abuse, beer bottles smashed into the soft white sand, cigarette boxes bobbing in the filth of the sea, and everyone mumbling about how many have died "this time".
But now the beach is clean, the majority of tourists have gone, and its back to normal.
For a few weeks at least.
We didn't go to the last one, as we had recently arrived and preferred to chill out with our new friends Sophi and Dan from Germany in a quiet bar here on our beach paradise.
The next month though we decided to go, as did everyone else at the camp. So we all met up in the common area about 10pm on the full moon night, sipping coffee shakes, redbull to someones dance CD's, before squeezing into a worryingly narrow, wooden long-tail boat for the trip to Haad Rin.
The moon was out and full this time (last "full moon" party was postponed a couple of days due to elections), and indeed looked magical reflected off the gently rippling water as we sailed around the beach head and rocks. The moonlight seemed strong enough to read by, it was so bright. Our coxswain knocked off his solitary running light as we hummed through the flat water, the moonlight illuminating in silver our path through the rocks.
When we reached Haad Rin, the sight on the beach reminded me of the scene from Apocalypse Now- Music boomed from multiple piles of bass speakers, thrown together haphazardly. Lights flashed different colours, fireworks went off flashing and banging over the lights. The beach was a writhing mass of bodies, all dancing, staggering, falling, and boats like ours carried yet more people onto the beach, threading their way past each other, avoiding the fully clothed people dancing, or maybe swimming in the water.
They say up to 30,000 people can attend on any full moon, and being there, I can quite believe it. The bars were little more than trestle tables laid out on the beach in single line, selling small plastic buckets with a bottle of whiskey or rum, a can of cola and a redbull sitting in. For between 300 and 450 Baht (depending on your spirit of choice), the "bar" tenders will fill the buckets with ice and pour in the booze and 2 mixers.
A couple of straws and your good to go!
All the way down the beach, speakers pumped out different types of music- in front of one "bar", Timberlake's bassy tunes were making our kidneys vibrate, but with just a few paces down the line the music changed to Jungle music, with a London MC chatting like a machine gun to a pleasingly multicultural, but very British, crowd.
Our group split for a bit, as the single lads went off looking for company, and us married/quieter types found a bar where we could shoot pool and talk.
Eventually, after many beers and much amusement at the drug addled antics of the gap-year travelers, everyone from the camp met up again on the beach. One of our guys, a kickboxing instructor from Birmingham, had a nice American girl clamped onto his arm so decided to stay. However, the rest of us were too drunk or tired to go on, so we squeezed again into a narrow boat, and chugged slowly off the beach.
The beach was wrecked. Bottles, rubbish, and crap from the sea (brought by the boats) was floating in the shallows, which were also full of people swimming/falling about in the filthy brown water. As we chugged past the drunk and the wasted, I noticed a young couple bumping uglies, I mean really going at it, like rabbits on Viagra, just meters away from the boat. The water was so dirty, they will surely catch a nasty infection! (And probably blame each other for it....)
Mrs G and I got to bed about 5.30am after a nightcap in the camps restaurant area, a little drunk, but nothing near the state the "Full Moon Party" seems to induce in most people.
The following day we returned to Haad Rin, on a bank and shopping trip. The mess was still there; farangs off their faces and struggling to remain upright after 24 hours drug and alcohol abuse, beer bottles smashed into the soft white sand, cigarette boxes bobbing in the filth of the sea, and everyone mumbling about how many have died "this time".
But now the beach is clean, the majority of tourists have gone, and its back to normal.
For a few weeks at least.
Tuesday 18 March 2008
The Journey To Paradise
We booked combination tickets (2nd class train, bus and ferry) to Koh Phangan (or Koh Pah Ngan, or Koh pan ngan, as translations differ), leaving Bangkok just after 5pm on the overnight train.
Having travelled on a few overnight trains in India, we were expecting the usual problems such as what stop is this, which train is this, that's my seat etc. It was a pleasant surprise then when the immaculately dressed railway cop took my ticket and escorted me to the right train, the right carriage, and even pointed to our seats.
We weren't expecting the train to be jam-packed with other farangs, with the de rigor backpacks and flip-flops either. Or to have so much space- rather than a 2 sets of 3-tier bunks facing each other on one side, and two bunks on the other side, the Thai train had just 2 tier bunks, on each side of the train running parallel to the windows.
They were big bunks too, with curtains that screened out the lights, and fresh clean sheets and mattress that a train employee made up for us straight after our meal. Even our meal was pretty posh- laid out on a table that a guy set up for us between the two seats that converted into the lower bunk. Beer and wine was available, and after we had finished, the train-guy leaned over to me conspiratorially-
"You come party carriage! Drinking, party music, smoking ok! 3rd one down- ok?"
"Er, ok!"
We made sure our stuff was secure soon as the guy done our beds, and wondered down the train.
We got to the third carriage, and could hear the music over the roar of the engine and the wind before we pushed the door open. The sight that greeted us made me laugh out loud- disco lights had replaced all the normal lighting, creating a dark but neon-pink and blue flashing atmosphere, the music was old rock, with Guns and Roses and Black Sabbath blaring out. There were seats and tables set up on each side of the carriage, with a neon-pink lined bar down one end, where the barman was dancing and yelling along to the lyrics while pouring a bottle of Meakong whiskey into a bucket of redbull and cola. All the windows were open in an attempt to dissipate the cigarette and cannabis smoke, which wasn't entirely successful but did add to the "Crazy Train" atmosphere, with the wind roaring along with the distorted guitars.
We got a seat, which was lucky in the packed carriage,and talked until alcohol fuzzed our conversation with an Australian couple, before collapsing in our bunks around midnight.
The next day, after getting to our station late, we found we missed the ferry. There was another one at 1400, however after buying new tickets for the 12 o' clock one, and generally being shuttled about by guys who didn't seem to have a clue what was going on, we ended up at the ferry port, only to get the 1400 one anyway.
It was a cock-up, and an expensive one, but I still cringed when our fellow passengers started shouting the odds and swearing at the thai guys. Maybe we are just use to having a few problems now, or maybe we're too laid back, but I still dont think it's a good idea to piss the people off that you need to help you. Certainly not here anyway, where "face" is important and shouting looses face for all concerned!
Eventually we got to the ferry, where I slept for most of the journey to the main port of Tong Sala on our island. From there it was another toyota pickup taxi to the taxi-boats, then a white-knuckle ride in a long-tail boat to our beach.
What a beach!
Backed by coconut palms, the beach is in a bay formed out of rocky hills on each side. White sand slips gradually out into aqua-blue water. To the left of the beach, when approaching by boat, is some rough-hewn steps leading up the rocks to our Muay Thai camp. By the time we climbed them, still wearing our hiking boots and cargos, we were drenched with sweat, and falling over, sucking the hot air into our lungs.
Our accommodation at the Muay Thai camp is a teak and bamboo bungalow, built on stilts on the rocks overlooking the bay. It's basic, with the bathroom back-wall actually being a large rock-face, and we wake up to fresh gecko shit everywhere each morning. However, the deck outside our front door is spacious with a large hammock hanging there to while away the hours on, listening to the waves and watching the world go by on the quiet beach below.
Rarely is there more than 10 people on the beach, and if that's too busy for your taste, there is a smaller bay and beach 5 mins walk away, which seems to be always deserted. If it's too quiet, there is a larger beach over the other hill, which has a small shop and regular taxi boats to the main beach of Haad Rin, where the ATM, 7-11 stores and all other traveller essentials are.
So now we're here, so far been here for 3 weeks, and I don't ever want to leave.
My routine is to get up at 7.30, as training is at 8 until about 10am. I go for a run for half an hour, which up and down the crazy hills here pretty much destroys me, and then into the training area for up to an hour and a half working on technique- shadow boxing, bag work, then finally into the ring for either sparring with a partner or pad work with one of the trainers. A guy called Deday is my favoured trainer, despite his habit of making me dive out the ring to throw up, due to the intensity of his 5-minute rounds on the pads ("30 kicks...Arrgh!! NO Power! 30 more, again!... now knee! More Power!!").
Training over, its a cold shower and breakfast with Mrs G, who usually has a leisurely lie-in.
Then...nothing.
Read a book on the beach, watch telly in the communal area with the other lads, or chill in my hammock, with the beautiful ladies strolling past below, on their way to Yoga or tantric chanting or suchlike.
Lunch.
Sleep.
A toasting session for Mrs G on the beach.
From 4pm to 6pm it's training again, working on conditioning this time. Skipping, shadow boxing and stretching then into heavy bag work, doing 100s of kicks, punches, elbows and knees until spots start swimming in front of my eyes.
Then into the ring for more sparring or pad-work.
The cold shower afterwards is heavenly, as the heat and humidity here makes you sweat just standing in the shade. Another meal, and then more chilling out!
Occasionally we will stroll to another of the bars in the area for a healthy fruit-shake. There is a DVD player and big wide screen TV in the camps restaurant/communal area, so many nights we all get together and watch pirate DVDs, as there are hundreds left over from previous students.
It's a hard life her during the week.
We get Saturdays off from training, so Friday nights we start off at a bamboo and teak bar/restaurant where we are like old friends with the staff (who love to consistently beat all of us trainees at chess).
All the bars here favor short mattress and pillows over chairs, and have a no-shoes policy, so we laze barefoot here for some time, before eventually going to another bar, a 10 minute walk into the jungle. Here it's the same score with the wooden construction and barefoot-lying- down thing. However, most people are giving it berries on the dancefloor, bottles of water in their hands and slack-jawed, happy-vacant looks on their faces.
Whatever you do, don't order the mushroom shake here.
The trance and house music booms until 7am, but due to the beer, I'm usually incoherent by midnight and snoring in our bungalow by 2am.
Occasionally we make the excursion to Haad Rin, a bank and shopping run for vitals such as electrolyte powders, soft-drinks and toilet paper (rarely used, as the, ahem, Indian/Thai way does the job nicely for me. Do try it before you judge!). We get to access the net there, and make any phone calls needed, as there is no reception where we are. Full to the brim with fellow farangs, sports-bars, 7-11's etc, its a relief to leave Haad Rin and get back to our tranquil, isolated piece of paradise.
Life is great here. It's easy, relaxed, and the muay thai training is second to none, as everyone has been fighting or training in Muay Thai since they were children, such is the culture here.
I now only drink occasionally and smoking messes with my training, so I rarely bother.
Simply put, it's a beautiful, healthy, peaceful peice of paradise for me.
I just wish we had longer here...
Having travelled on a few overnight trains in India, we were expecting the usual problems such as what stop is this, which train is this, that's my seat etc. It was a pleasant surprise then when the immaculately dressed railway cop took my ticket and escorted me to the right train, the right carriage, and even pointed to our seats.
We weren't expecting the train to be jam-packed with other farangs, with the de rigor backpacks and flip-flops either. Or to have so much space- rather than a 2 sets of 3-tier bunks facing each other on one side, and two bunks on the other side, the Thai train had just 2 tier bunks, on each side of the train running parallel to the windows.
They were big bunks too, with curtains that screened out the lights, and fresh clean sheets and mattress that a train employee made up for us straight after our meal. Even our meal was pretty posh- laid out on a table that a guy set up for us between the two seats that converted into the lower bunk. Beer and wine was available, and after we had finished, the train-guy leaned over to me conspiratorially-
"You come party carriage! Drinking, party music, smoking ok! 3rd one down- ok?"
"Er, ok!"
We made sure our stuff was secure soon as the guy done our beds, and wondered down the train.
We got to the third carriage, and could hear the music over the roar of the engine and the wind before we pushed the door open. The sight that greeted us made me laugh out loud- disco lights had replaced all the normal lighting, creating a dark but neon-pink and blue flashing atmosphere, the music was old rock, with Guns and Roses and Black Sabbath blaring out. There were seats and tables set up on each side of the carriage, with a neon-pink lined bar down one end, where the barman was dancing and yelling along to the lyrics while pouring a bottle of Meakong whiskey into a bucket of redbull and cola. All the windows were open in an attempt to dissipate the cigarette and cannabis smoke, which wasn't entirely successful but did add to the "Crazy Train" atmosphere, with the wind roaring along with the distorted guitars.
We got a seat, which was lucky in the packed carriage,and talked until alcohol fuzzed our conversation with an Australian couple, before collapsing in our bunks around midnight.
The next day, after getting to our station late, we found we missed the ferry. There was another one at 1400, however after buying new tickets for the 12 o' clock one, and generally being shuttled about by guys who didn't seem to have a clue what was going on, we ended up at the ferry port, only to get the 1400 one anyway.
It was a cock-up, and an expensive one, but I still cringed when our fellow passengers started shouting the odds and swearing at the thai guys. Maybe we are just use to having a few problems now, or maybe we're too laid back, but I still dont think it's a good idea to piss the people off that you need to help you. Certainly not here anyway, where "face" is important and shouting looses face for all concerned!
Eventually we got to the ferry, where I slept for most of the journey to the main port of Tong Sala on our island. From there it was another toyota pickup taxi to the taxi-boats, then a white-knuckle ride in a long-tail boat to our beach.
What a beach!
Backed by coconut palms, the beach is in a bay formed out of rocky hills on each side. White sand slips gradually out into aqua-blue water. To the left of the beach, when approaching by boat, is some rough-hewn steps leading up the rocks to our Muay Thai camp. By the time we climbed them, still wearing our hiking boots and cargos, we were drenched with sweat, and falling over, sucking the hot air into our lungs.
Our accommodation at the Muay Thai camp is a teak and bamboo bungalow, built on stilts on the rocks overlooking the bay. It's basic, with the bathroom back-wall actually being a large rock-face, and we wake up to fresh gecko shit everywhere each morning. However, the deck outside our front door is spacious with a large hammock hanging there to while away the hours on, listening to the waves and watching the world go by on the quiet beach below.
Rarely is there more than 10 people on the beach, and if that's too busy for your taste, there is a smaller bay and beach 5 mins walk away, which seems to be always deserted. If it's too quiet, there is a larger beach over the other hill, which has a small shop and regular taxi boats to the main beach of Haad Rin, where the ATM, 7-11 stores and all other traveller essentials are.
So now we're here, so far been here for 3 weeks, and I don't ever want to leave.
My routine is to get up at 7.30, as training is at 8 until about 10am. I go for a run for half an hour, which up and down the crazy hills here pretty much destroys me, and then into the training area for up to an hour and a half working on technique- shadow boxing, bag work, then finally into the ring for either sparring with a partner or pad work with one of the trainers. A guy called Deday is my favoured trainer, despite his habit of making me dive out the ring to throw up, due to the intensity of his 5-minute rounds on the pads ("30 kicks...Arrgh!! NO Power! 30 more, again!... now knee! More Power!!").
Training over, its a cold shower and breakfast with Mrs G, who usually has a leisurely lie-in.
Then...nothing.
Read a book on the beach, watch telly in the communal area with the other lads, or chill in my hammock, with the beautiful ladies strolling past below, on their way to Yoga or tantric chanting or suchlike.
Lunch.
Sleep.
A toasting session for Mrs G on the beach.
From 4pm to 6pm it's training again, working on conditioning this time. Skipping, shadow boxing and stretching then into heavy bag work, doing 100s of kicks, punches, elbows and knees until spots start swimming in front of my eyes.
Then into the ring for more sparring or pad-work.
The cold shower afterwards is heavenly, as the heat and humidity here makes you sweat just standing in the shade. Another meal, and then more chilling out!
Occasionally we will stroll to another of the bars in the area for a healthy fruit-shake. There is a DVD player and big wide screen TV in the camps restaurant/communal area, so many nights we all get together and watch pirate DVDs, as there are hundreds left over from previous students.
It's a hard life her during the week.
We get Saturdays off from training, so Friday nights we start off at a bamboo and teak bar/restaurant where we are like old friends with the staff (who love to consistently beat all of us trainees at chess).
All the bars here favor short mattress and pillows over chairs, and have a no-shoes policy, so we laze barefoot here for some time, before eventually going to another bar, a 10 minute walk into the jungle. Here it's the same score with the wooden construction and barefoot-lying- down thing. However, most people are giving it berries on the dancefloor, bottles of water in their hands and slack-jawed, happy-vacant looks on their faces.
Whatever you do, don't order the mushroom shake here.
The trance and house music booms until 7am, but due to the beer, I'm usually incoherent by midnight and snoring in our bungalow by 2am.
Occasionally we make the excursion to Haad Rin, a bank and shopping run for vitals such as electrolyte powders, soft-drinks and toilet paper (rarely used, as the, ahem, Indian/Thai way does the job nicely for me. Do try it before you judge!). We get to access the net there, and make any phone calls needed, as there is no reception where we are. Full to the brim with fellow farangs, sports-bars, 7-11's etc, its a relief to leave Haad Rin and get back to our tranquil, isolated piece of paradise.
Life is great here. It's easy, relaxed, and the muay thai training is second to none, as everyone has been fighting or training in Muay Thai since they were children, such is the culture here.
I now only drink occasionally and smoking messes with my training, so I rarely bother.
Simply put, it's a beautiful, healthy, peaceful peice of paradise for me.
I just wish we had longer here...
Thursday 13 March 2008
Staying on the Kwia
During our first trip we were to be staying on a house boat on the river Kwia itself. We got there via a Toyota pick-up truck "taxi", which we shared with other Farangs also on the trip, all of us sitting on two benches facing inwards with our rucksacks between our knees or strapped to the home-made roof. I could see why we swapped our air-con minibuses for the Toyota workhorses when we set off down the unpaved road which bumped its way to the river bank where the house boat was moored.
Once there, sweating and lethargic in the afternoon heat, it was a short walk down the bank and onto the houseboat, which already had freshly cooked rice, Thai green curry and a stir-fry waiting for us on the tables in the eating area.
"Oh God, now, no this is too much, I cant do this!" A shrill mid-Atlantic voice complains as soon as we disembark the Toyota. The owner of the nasally complaint is a stout woman who I figure is pissed off she has to walk down the stairs to the boat with her suitcase (not the most practical piece of luggage for touring Thailand). Everyone else has grabbed their luggage and bee-lined for the hot food, so I step forward to help.
"I am NOT carrying that down there, this is just too much!" She continues gesturing to the luggage and the slight thai girl who is our guide. The thai girl, who I figure is so small, she could actually climb into the suitcase and fit quite comfortably,with a friend, grabs the handle at the stout women's gesturing, and starts attempting to take it down the riverbank stairs. Satisfied, the stout woman wobbles past her empty-handed and down to the waiting food. I adjust my bags and help the Thai girl carry the suitcase, before it drags her down the bank and into the water. When we get the suitcase onto the boat, the thai girl gave me a knowing smile and says "Yeah, you English".
The boat was lovely, a flat raft with a covered communal eating area one end, and the other a line of simple rooms with attached bathrooms, opening out onto decking with table and chairs arranged for sitting and looking out onto the water, which flowed with surprising speed.
That night, after a great home-made thai meal, we sat on the decking and watched the river flow by , sipping Mekong whisky and talking about Europe to the bigoted, borderline racist and over-opinionated stout woman who was incapable of carrying her own bag before. I found it crazy she was so anti-immigration and so extremely opinionated on matters relating to England (and the royal family?!), considering she hadn't lived in England since 1968, when she moved to Canada.
Poor Canada.
Lucky us.
The next morning we were up early and before breakfast were taken to where the elephants were being bathed.
Former working elephants, now retired, their continued employment relies on farangs like us visiting them for rides and the chance to fool around in the water with them.
Now I wasn't sure on this, having studied at length the wild elephants of Kenya, gaining a huge amount of respect, care and healthy amount of fear for these enormous, amazing, intelligent creatures. However, these were domestic elephants, a far cry from the wild African elephant. Still didn't stop me worrying when I climbed onto it's back to set off into the river Kwia for bath-time.
However, the elephant seemed happy enough, it's mahout laughing and joking as the elephant happily tips us into the water again and again. It was strange, to be this close to the elephant, to feel its thick, wire-haired skin, to touch its tusks, and to swim around it, this huge, amazing creature. I noticed Becci was in the water almost constantly, seemingly unable to stay on as the elephant tips its huge bulk sideways into the water. I was faring a little better, which I was glad of- I felt very uncomfortable climbing all over such a magnificent creature, like it was disrespectful. However, this is Thailand, not Africa, and like in India, elephants have been domesticated for quite some time.
After "washing" the elephants, and then ourselves (I was acutely aware the water I was swimming in was the same the house-boats toilet empties into), we had breakfast, and set about our other trips. Over the couple of days these included "elephant trekking" which I found boring and didn't like the mahouts "pick-axe", and a visit to a waterfall.
The waterfall wasn't spectacular, however we walked a few K's further up and found some caves. For 50 Baht, the park-wardens took Mrs Grasshopper and I, plus an Ozzy couple who had a similar idea, deep into the depths of the caves. Becci opted out, not liking the tight fit through the entrance, but she met us outside some time later, when we emerged scratched, hot and soaked through with sweat. I had thought the caves would be cool, but in actual fact they were like an oven, and the oil-lamp the warden used didn't help matters. Pitch-dark, hot and with incredible narrow crevices to scramble through, it was an unusual but very enjoyable experience.
The ice-cold water I bought at the waterfall on the way home was amazing, after the heat of the caves and the walk!
We also visited the "Tiger temple", a Buddhist monastery that initially took in a couple of wounded animals from the local people, and now have a full sanctuary for a number of different animals, the largest being the Tigers.
There is a "rumor" amongst a number of travellers that the tigers there are drugged, in order for tourists to sit by them for photographs. The monastery refute this, claiming in the handout that accompanies the entrance ticket that the tigers are simply so use to humans. Certainly, there were a few baby tigers, who were running around with the farangs, playing with the kids, the handlers and even a 2 year old little boy, who was regularly nibbled on by a particularly excitable 6 week old tiger. The big tigers were half-comatose in the heat, and they lay about while tourists que to get their photo taken while stroking one. We didn't bother, though we got lots of photos fooling around with the tiger-kittens.
Before long we were on our way back to Bangkok, where we stayed out drinking again on the Kho San road, taking in the waves of Farangs, working girls, bars, moody merchandise and fantastic food stalls.
The following day we set off for Koh Chang.
To be honest, Koh Chang for me was a mammoth bus ride, a lovely air-con hotel room where I spent hours filling out forms and making notes, a bad Indian curry, a nice piece of fish, and then a mammoth bus ride back to Bangkok. I only left the room to eat and buy cigarettes and water. But apparently the beach was beautiful, and one night we watched guys dancing while twirling fire, which was cool, another night we found a bar that wasn't aimed only at matching girls with clients, which was nice. But it was soon over, and Mrs G and Becci seemed to have enjoyed themselves. I was just glad to get a start on my forms.
Unfortunately, once back in Bangkok Becci's time with us was over, and she left the night we got back from Ko Chang.
The next couple of days in Bangkok saw me finish my paperwork and DHL it back to the UK, and then we boarded a train, bound south where we would get a bus, then a ferry, then a taxi, then a taxi-boat to Koh Pa Ngan. There we were to be staying for 6 weeks at a muay thai training camp, where I can get back into training, and maybe even get a fight before we leave.
That overnight train journey was like no other we had experianced...!
Once there, sweating and lethargic in the afternoon heat, it was a short walk down the bank and onto the houseboat, which already had freshly cooked rice, Thai green curry and a stir-fry waiting for us on the tables in the eating area.
"Oh God, now, no this is too much, I cant do this!" A shrill mid-Atlantic voice complains as soon as we disembark the Toyota. The owner of the nasally complaint is a stout woman who I figure is pissed off she has to walk down the stairs to the boat with her suitcase (not the most practical piece of luggage for touring Thailand). Everyone else has grabbed their luggage and bee-lined for the hot food, so I step forward to help.
"I am NOT carrying that down there, this is just too much!" She continues gesturing to the luggage and the slight thai girl who is our guide. The thai girl, who I figure is so small, she could actually climb into the suitcase and fit quite comfortably,with a friend, grabs the handle at the stout women's gesturing, and starts attempting to take it down the riverbank stairs. Satisfied, the stout woman wobbles past her empty-handed and down to the waiting food. I adjust my bags and help the Thai girl carry the suitcase, before it drags her down the bank and into the water. When we get the suitcase onto the boat, the thai girl gave me a knowing smile and says "Yeah, you English".
The boat was lovely, a flat raft with a covered communal eating area one end, and the other a line of simple rooms with attached bathrooms, opening out onto decking with table and chairs arranged for sitting and looking out onto the water, which flowed with surprising speed.
That night, after a great home-made thai meal, we sat on the decking and watched the river flow by , sipping Mekong whisky and talking about Europe to the bigoted, borderline racist and over-opinionated stout woman who was incapable of carrying her own bag before. I found it crazy she was so anti-immigration and so extremely opinionated on matters relating to England (and the royal family?!), considering she hadn't lived in England since 1968, when she moved to Canada.
Poor Canada.
Lucky us.
The next morning we were up early and before breakfast were taken to where the elephants were being bathed.
Former working elephants, now retired, their continued employment relies on farangs like us visiting them for rides and the chance to fool around in the water with them.
Now I wasn't sure on this, having studied at length the wild elephants of Kenya, gaining a huge amount of respect, care and healthy amount of fear for these enormous, amazing, intelligent creatures. However, these were domestic elephants, a far cry from the wild African elephant. Still didn't stop me worrying when I climbed onto it's back to set off into the river Kwia for bath-time.
However, the elephant seemed happy enough, it's mahout laughing and joking as the elephant happily tips us into the water again and again. It was strange, to be this close to the elephant, to feel its thick, wire-haired skin, to touch its tusks, and to swim around it, this huge, amazing creature. I noticed Becci was in the water almost constantly, seemingly unable to stay on as the elephant tips its huge bulk sideways into the water. I was faring a little better, which I was glad of- I felt very uncomfortable climbing all over such a magnificent creature, like it was disrespectful. However, this is Thailand, not Africa, and like in India, elephants have been domesticated for quite some time.
After "washing" the elephants, and then ourselves (I was acutely aware the water I was swimming in was the same the house-boats toilet empties into), we had breakfast, and set about our other trips. Over the couple of days these included "elephant trekking" which I found boring and didn't like the mahouts "pick-axe", and a visit to a waterfall.
The waterfall wasn't spectacular, however we walked a few K's further up and found some caves. For 50 Baht, the park-wardens took Mrs Grasshopper and I, plus an Ozzy couple who had a similar idea, deep into the depths of the caves. Becci opted out, not liking the tight fit through the entrance, but she met us outside some time later, when we emerged scratched, hot and soaked through with sweat. I had thought the caves would be cool, but in actual fact they were like an oven, and the oil-lamp the warden used didn't help matters. Pitch-dark, hot and with incredible narrow crevices to scramble through, it was an unusual but very enjoyable experience.
The ice-cold water I bought at the waterfall on the way home was amazing, after the heat of the caves and the walk!
We also visited the "Tiger temple", a Buddhist monastery that initially took in a couple of wounded animals from the local people, and now have a full sanctuary for a number of different animals, the largest being the Tigers.
There is a "rumor" amongst a number of travellers that the tigers there are drugged, in order for tourists to sit by them for photographs. The monastery refute this, claiming in the handout that accompanies the entrance ticket that the tigers are simply so use to humans. Certainly, there were a few baby tigers, who were running around with the farangs, playing with the kids, the handlers and even a 2 year old little boy, who was regularly nibbled on by a particularly excitable 6 week old tiger. The big tigers were half-comatose in the heat, and they lay about while tourists que to get their photo taken while stroking one. We didn't bother, though we got lots of photos fooling around with the tiger-kittens.
Before long we were on our way back to Bangkok, where we stayed out drinking again on the Kho San road, taking in the waves of Farangs, working girls, bars, moody merchandise and fantastic food stalls.
The following day we set off for Koh Chang.
To be honest, Koh Chang for me was a mammoth bus ride, a lovely air-con hotel room where I spent hours filling out forms and making notes, a bad Indian curry, a nice piece of fish, and then a mammoth bus ride back to Bangkok. I only left the room to eat and buy cigarettes and water. But apparently the beach was beautiful, and one night we watched guys dancing while twirling fire, which was cool, another night we found a bar that wasn't aimed only at matching girls with clients, which was nice. But it was soon over, and Mrs G and Becci seemed to have enjoyed themselves. I was just glad to get a start on my forms.
Unfortunately, once back in Bangkok Becci's time with us was over, and she left the night we got back from Ko Chang.
The next couple of days in Bangkok saw me finish my paperwork and DHL it back to the UK, and then we boarded a train, bound south where we would get a bus, then a ferry, then a taxi, then a taxi-boat to Koh Pa Ngan. There we were to be staying for 6 weeks at a muay thai training camp, where I can get back into training, and maybe even get a fight before we leave.
That overnight train journey was like no other we had experianced...!
Friday 7 March 2008
River Kwai
We set off early the next morning to start our first tour. Becci and I had made a silly decision to share a bottle of whiskey that night, (I needed it to calm my nerves after the pingpong show), so we were up later than I had hoped the next morning.
We set off to Kanchanaburi province in a minibus, which was quite cool and had working air con, and soon arrived at the War graves.
It was a sobering visit, the perfect rows of headstones, marking the graves of those British and commonwealth soldiers who had died building the railway to Burma. I walked up and down the lines, the headstones glittering wet after the recent rain, and read the inscriptions. Many were my own age and younger, and I could only imagine how fucked up it must have been to have died so far from home, in such as strange foreign land, building a railway in conditions that were killing your friends around you. Not even fighting, but building a railway.
The Jeath museum by the bridge over the river Kwai and the Hellfire pass museum gave greater insight into the railway, the lives it cost, and the conditions for the prisoners during the end of their war. All in it was a very sober day- insightful, educational, and deeply saddening.
"We loved you with all our hearts, always. We will be united again one day in heaven- your Mum and Dad"
That was an inscription on one of the headstones. It really got to me, that one.
We set off to Kanchanaburi province in a minibus, which was quite cool and had working air con, and soon arrived at the War graves.
It was a sobering visit, the perfect rows of headstones, marking the graves of those British and commonwealth soldiers who had died building the railway to Burma. I walked up and down the lines, the headstones glittering wet after the recent rain, and read the inscriptions. Many were my own age and younger, and I could only imagine how fucked up it must have been to have died so far from home, in such as strange foreign land, building a railway in conditions that were killing your friends around you. Not even fighting, but building a railway.
The Jeath museum by the bridge over the river Kwai and the Hellfire pass museum gave greater insight into the railway, the lives it cost, and the conditions for the prisoners during the end of their war. All in it was a very sober day- insightful, educational, and deeply saddening.
"We loved you with all our hearts, always. We will be united again one day in heaven- your Mum and Dad"
That was an inscription on one of the headstones. It really got to me, that one.
Thursday 6 March 2008
Bangkok
Or Krung Thep if your thai- the city of Angels.
We landed, a little disorientated from the little sleep we've had, and the strange hours we got it since we left our hotel in Mumbai 2 days ago (or was it now three?).
I text Becci soon as we landed, and before we knew it we were through the immigration checks, customs and standing by the taxi desk outside the shiny new airport. We sorted a metered Taxi, in an amazed daze that the driver was actually using his meter, instead of arguing over an initially 500% inflated first price.
As Mrs G and I marvelled at the immaculate modern saloon we were driving in, down a perfectly surfaced and organised highway, I actually felt like it was a little eery- no battered ambassador taxi-cars doing death races, no cows on the road, no auto-rickshaws barely cheating death (just thier passengers), and no constant beeping of horns. Even the roads were perfect, organised and clean, the police officers at the toll roads fit, disciplined and immaculately turned out, and with none of the barely contained aggression and menace of India's police.
Becci had text to say where she was, a nice new budget hotel just off the Khoa San road- the backpacker ghetto of south east Asia. We found it easy enough, and after paying the driver just under 300 Baht, we sat in the lobby and waited for her.
I felt somewhat self-conscious in my zip-off cargo trousers, hiking boots and bush shirt (all washed and dried within an hour back in Sri Lanka). Everyone else was in either the tourist uniform or traveller uniform. For tourists it comprises of silly hat, maybe advertising their hotel or coach tour, T-shirts with Singha beer picture or crude joke on the front, and loud shorts so awful they can hide vomit stains.
The difference is the travellers may actually have the vomit stains, often dressed in faded, torn old t-shirts bought in the last country they were in, big baggy shapeless trousers or combat shorts, and bags still with airline stickers attached. Some have flags sewn into their rucksacks showing the countries they were last in. Others maybe have "natural fiber" shoulder bags, sewn by a 500 year old woman in the Himalayas from the wool of 3 legged llamas. Or something cool like that.
Then you got the sex tourists, who have a habit of looking like, um, sex tourists. Mostly over 40, the teenage Thai girl holding their middle-aged sweaty hand as they stroll along kinda gives it away.
The one thing everyone will be wearing is "thongs" (Ozzy term- not the strappy briefs that hide VPL, but "flip-flops", horrible plates of rubber held to your feet by a strap that goes between your toes.) These things are far from high street fashion, but they are useful and for me that's about it. So I cant help but laugh when people spend loads on getting ones with fashion jewellery, buckles, and brand names attached. Those who do are usually the tourists.
(the "travellers" get renewable hemp ones. Or ones made by a 500 year old porpoise living in the andamans or something).
Becci came down to meet us after a quick shower- she had been having a few beers with a German couple she had met on the plane the night before, so like us was a little tired that morning.
We went to the cafe next door, looking for Indian chai as it was an Indian cafe, had breakfast, then went straight into the travel agents next door to book tours.
Our first was a visit to the war graves, bridge over the river Kwai, Jeath Museum, death railway and hellfire pass, as well as elephant trekking, elephant washing and a visit to the tiger temple to play with baby tigers. We'd be staying on a house boat on the river Kwia too.
The second tour ended up to be to Koh Chang, the two girls choosing it over my suggestion to go somewhere closer. Which was fair enough, as I would unfortunately be in the hotel room the whole time doing my forms for The Job back home. Plus I'm not really a beach-lover, getting sunburned under a fridge light.
Our week together booked, we had the day to chill out and catch up. Having not had a
nights sleep for a few nights now, we actually did pretty good to keep going until past midnight that night. Having found a room at the same hotel as Becci, we wondered up and down the Khao San, marvelling at how many white people there were, how the atmosphere was so different, and how there were no cows.
Somewhere, in one of the bars maybe, I suggested going to a Cabaret show that night in Sukumvit, the party area of the city. The cabaret performers are Kathoey or "lady-boys" in the west, heavily made up and in amazing clothing perform sing and dance routines which I've been reliably informed are great fun to watch, and a must-do. Tickets were advertised at the travel agents, so I figured it shouldn't be too seedy either, thinking of the girls respectability and all that.
The girls had other ideas though.
They dragged me to a ping-pong show.
Yep, THE ping-pong show, the one where they play pingpong without a net or paddle.
"It will be a giggle" says Mrs Grasshopper, as I shake my head in disbelief.
It will change how I see bananas.
And Candles.
Eugh!.....
We landed, a little disorientated from the little sleep we've had, and the strange hours we got it since we left our hotel in Mumbai 2 days ago (or was it now three?).
I text Becci soon as we landed, and before we knew it we were through the immigration checks, customs and standing by the taxi desk outside the shiny new airport. We sorted a metered Taxi, in an amazed daze that the driver was actually using his meter, instead of arguing over an initially 500% inflated first price.
As Mrs G and I marvelled at the immaculate modern saloon we were driving in, down a perfectly surfaced and organised highway, I actually felt like it was a little eery- no battered ambassador taxi-cars doing death races, no cows on the road, no auto-rickshaws barely cheating death (just thier passengers), and no constant beeping of horns. Even the roads were perfect, organised and clean, the police officers at the toll roads fit, disciplined and immaculately turned out, and with none of the barely contained aggression and menace of India's police.
Becci had text to say where she was, a nice new budget hotel just off the Khoa San road- the backpacker ghetto of south east Asia. We found it easy enough, and after paying the driver just under 300 Baht, we sat in the lobby and waited for her.
I felt somewhat self-conscious in my zip-off cargo trousers, hiking boots and bush shirt (all washed and dried within an hour back in Sri Lanka). Everyone else was in either the tourist uniform or traveller uniform. For tourists it comprises of silly hat, maybe advertising their hotel or coach tour, T-shirts with Singha beer picture or crude joke on the front, and loud shorts so awful they can hide vomit stains.
The difference is the travellers may actually have the vomit stains, often dressed in faded, torn old t-shirts bought in the last country they were in, big baggy shapeless trousers or combat shorts, and bags still with airline stickers attached. Some have flags sewn into their rucksacks showing the countries they were last in. Others maybe have "natural fiber" shoulder bags, sewn by a 500 year old woman in the Himalayas from the wool of 3 legged llamas. Or something cool like that.
Then you got the sex tourists, who have a habit of looking like, um, sex tourists. Mostly over 40, the teenage Thai girl holding their middle-aged sweaty hand as they stroll along kinda gives it away.
The one thing everyone will be wearing is "thongs" (Ozzy term- not the strappy briefs that hide VPL, but "flip-flops", horrible plates of rubber held to your feet by a strap that goes between your toes.) These things are far from high street fashion, but they are useful and for me that's about it. So I cant help but laugh when people spend loads on getting ones with fashion jewellery, buckles, and brand names attached. Those who do are usually the tourists.
(the "travellers" get renewable hemp ones. Or ones made by a 500 year old porpoise living in the andamans or something).
Becci came down to meet us after a quick shower- she had been having a few beers with a German couple she had met on the plane the night before, so like us was a little tired that morning.
We went to the cafe next door, looking for Indian chai as it was an Indian cafe, had breakfast, then went straight into the travel agents next door to book tours.
Our first was a visit to the war graves, bridge over the river Kwai, Jeath Museum, death railway and hellfire pass, as well as elephant trekking, elephant washing and a visit to the tiger temple to play with baby tigers. We'd be staying on a house boat on the river Kwia too.
The second tour ended up to be to Koh Chang, the two girls choosing it over my suggestion to go somewhere closer. Which was fair enough, as I would unfortunately be in the hotel room the whole time doing my forms for The Job back home. Plus I'm not really a beach-lover, getting sunburned under a fridge light.
Our week together booked, we had the day to chill out and catch up. Having not had a
nights sleep for a few nights now, we actually did pretty good to keep going until past midnight that night. Having found a room at the same hotel as Becci, we wondered up and down the Khao San, marvelling at how many white people there were, how the atmosphere was so different, and how there were no cows.
Somewhere, in one of the bars maybe, I suggested going to a Cabaret show that night in Sukumvit, the party area of the city. The cabaret performers are Kathoey or "lady-boys" in the west, heavily made up and in amazing clothing perform sing and dance routines which I've been reliably informed are great fun to watch, and a must-do. Tickets were advertised at the travel agents, so I figured it shouldn't be too seedy either, thinking of the girls respectability and all that.
The girls had other ideas though.
They dragged me to a ping-pong show.
Yep, THE ping-pong show, the one where they play pingpong without a net or paddle.
"It will be a giggle" says Mrs Grasshopper, as I shake my head in disbelief.
It will change how I see bananas.
And Candles.
Eugh!.....
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